Marcus F & Damon B Mishmash
by Sand Dun
Summary: An assortment of Marcus/Damon short stories. (Just like a box of chocolates!)
1. Piece of His Puzzle

**Author's Note: **This isn't a story, but a collection of some of my plot-less Marcus/ Damon fluffs (and maybe some PWPs later on; we'll see what the future types up) So what you're going to be reading here is a different story for each chapter. (Also why the story's title and summary _suck_ :P) I didn't want to make them separate, because they're so short! Besides, isn't it more convenient this way? Well, anyway, enjoy~ :D

Story's Image: Think the artwork portraying this story is hot? It's an amazing piece of artwork by DeviantART artist RapturesSaviour! 

_Summary: _Marcus has time to reflect on his heart.

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Damon's normally dramatic profile is peaceful when he sleeps. His face transforms into a placidly blank pool, utterly expressionless and openly serene. The creases of tension at his eyes are soothed over and his normally over-working jaw is relaxed. Gentle, slow breaths escape his slightly parted lips, lips still swollen from fervent kissing. Glances of teeth show through as he languidly mumbles incomprehensible words.

Even in his sleep the blonde is never completely taciturn, Marcus notes. In a rare, affectionate afterthought, he carefully draws his forefinger down the man's cheek, feeling the stubs of rough growth that have been left unattended to for the past few weeks. Baird shifts in his sleep, as if unconsciously alert of his touch. It is a silent, curious thrill for Fenix. He stares pensively at the blonde.

Emotions don't come easy for him. They bottle up, fester, and seethe beneath his forbidding. Emotions are expressional and, sometimes, dramatic, and Marcus is none of these things. He is a stone front of gruffness in a large magnitude, sometimes to the point of being clinical. Baird, on the other hand, is the polar opposite: loud, often to the point of being an honest-to-God chatterbox and annoyance, open-minded, and full of evoking emotions. He shares minimum-wage similarities with Marcus.

But somehow when their universes collided there was no black hole, but rather something bigger… and better.

Their developing relationship had been questionable to the point of being just a shared hallucination. How the hell could they—Damon Baird and Marcus Fenix—fit together when they could barely tolerate one another for the past few years?

Some things don't make sense, Marcus has learned. Occurrences transpire and emotions materialize like the Universe has some big plan for everyone. But that doesn't mean everything turns out unwelcome, bad. Sometimes the most unsuspecting occurrences are the best ones, most needed, most… wanted.

Watching the mumbling figure sleeping beside him, Marcus realizes that a part of him has always wanted the snarky, smart-ass, but he hadn't known it.

Love has an enigmatic way of functioning. It's fickle like atmospheric conditions, but once you see someone through its eyes, nothing is the same… everything changes, shifts. The rest of the world becomes a background picture and the centerfold is one person and one person only. A strong emotion settles in the mind and builds something wonderful in the heart. But somehow it's not magic, not an allusion. It's real and warm.

Marcus doesn't care what type of love it is. When he looks into Damon's electric blue eyes, he can see something absolute and that's all he needs. His soul feels hope and renewal. There's a touch of hope, a dawning of light with the kindling of passion. It's something for Marcus to hold on to, an anchor to stop his ship from being swept inward with the tide, a small promise on the distant horizon that there is good left in this world and some of it is his.

Through love, Marcus really sees Damon—not just a blonde braggart, jackass. (Well, he still sees plenty of that, but it's not just a weary annoyance.) He's no longer looking at the barrier, but has broken through. He knows Baird's barricades alter his personality, but they haven't changed his character. There's a good, honest, loving, tender person beneath his emotional fortress. Marcus found purchase to that well-hidden person in Damon and held on just like Damon has found purchase in the inner being Marcus has blotched out from the world.

Marcus hadn't thought it was possible to put so much trust, give so much away to another person. Especially Damon S. Baird. But he's let the man in deeper than even Anya. Never once has he regretted it.

Having someone so close was scary at first. With the dramatic inner emotions and over-protectiveness. Marcus knows Damon can take care of himself, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have the right to worry, especially when he has so much to lose. He has lost too many people he's loved. Losing Damon along with them… there's only so much even he can handle.

It doesn't mean they still don't occasionally step on one another's tails and verbally abuse each other, though. In the times of stress and moments of pressure, Baird's hackles will still raise and Marcus' eyes will still flash. But there's always the make-up, the forgiving—even if Baird's damn pride makes him stumble over and mumble his part. There's too much between them. They don't have one another just as main source of stability; they have one another because they're in love.

Fenix stares as at the blonde engineer nestled against his body. Even with their armor on, he can still feel warmth radiating of the smaller man's form. Love. Fuck, he never thought he would love someone. And here he is, looking at that man and knowing he feels just that.

Damon is so much to him, but Marcus can't say.

Words are awkward, sticky and thick in this throat. They get caught in a web of hesitation and falter, lingering always on the tip of his tongue but never leaving his lips. Sometimes he's full of stupid words that make Baird grin madly, but those words feel pointless.

Marcus isn't poetic or loquacious. His words are blunt to the point of being curt. Often, he regards action has a highly appropriate way of getting a point across. But he wants Damon to hear words. He wants to look the blonde in the eyes and tell him. But how can he when can't find the right words to say?

"Marcus…" The said gear looks contemplatively at the blonde as his thoughts are cut off. It's curious knowing the other man is dreaming about him. Dreaming of…? He wonders. He watches Damon huff. All right, maybe not sleeping. "You're watching me sleep again," Baird complains. "It's creepy." A tired eye peers at him from beneath eyelashes. "It's not time to wake up, is it?" he checks, eyes open and his voice pitched with a warning. That's typical morning-Baird, though: grouchy and cuddly. "Not yet."  
"Okay... then get some sleep, would ya?" The electric blue eyes disappear behind eyelids.

Marcus contemplates something before closing his eyes as well. Damon doesn't need him to tell him he loves him: he already knows.

"Unexpected love with the most unexpected person is the one that will last" ~ (unknown)

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**Author's Note:** For the past few months I've gotten the chance to seriously get into the GoW fandom with Damon/Marcus. This is one of the results! As pointless as it is plot-wise, it makes for pretty good great tooth-rotting fluff, eh?

Copied n' Pasted off my Archive of Our Own account.


	2. Don't Need Words

_Summary: _There's words and then there's action.

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They don't need words, don't need the sounds of constants and vowels rolling off tongues. It's just the silence. The soft beating of two hearts and tired, content eyes peering at one another between eyelashes half-closed.

Their lips melt together and the sweet surrendering sigh of serenity oozes from their bodies is all the thoughts and words their mouths could ever desire to speak.

Words are silly, uncouth, and easy to speak. But actions… actions are the true breathe of the soul. Tried and true fixations of pondering manipulated into a form more renounced than a falsetto scream. The tender rejoice of an intimate moment says words that words themselves would feel almost hollow saying.

They just need moments like this to shiver and snuggle in another's arms, breath silent love, and smile at one another.  
Their bodies softly tangle beneath the white bed sheets, legs entwined and hands folded together. As much as they can manage to press against one another, they do. Muscles are lax and there isn't the sense of unease or discomfort. They are completely willing and trusting in one another's arms: nothing is held back.

No one gets to see them like this: tender, making vulnerable their hearts and desires.

Damon Baird: subordinate and splaying himself out willingly. He doesn't fight, sneer, or snap. Here he is soft and begging. His electric eyes are trusting and open; his touch questing and warm.

Marcus Fenix: ever the leading hand, but this time gentle and warm. Sometimes he wavers, he hands rough, but he's always gentle, always careful… caring. His gunmetal blue eyes falter to shelter his well-kept emotions and his true inner-self bleeds through.  
It's a dangerous, close-kept secret, but worth every savory moment of having.

As their lips break apart and their foreheads rest against one another, it's crystalline that this is their dawn, their beginning with the war's ending.  
Love doesn't need to be vocal to be known, but sometimes it feels safer, more tangible, if three words come rolling off that special someone's tongue. Then the knowledge, the sound is in the air. Maybe then it's not a secret.

Marcus and Damon don't need words like that. Their eyes, lips, and soft fingertips say everything. Mouth on mouth, hands running down and stroking one another's bodies… the soft breathe against shivering skin and the follow up kiss, maybe a love mark. Things like these are the breath and sentences of their love.

Marcus doesn't talk enough and Damon talks too much. This isn't a problem. All they need is action to say, "I love you."

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**Author's Note: **Yep, this was just a really short fluff. Just wanted to express Marcus and Damon's feelings without getting too much into any plots. Honestly don't mean to sound lazy, but their emotions really were all I wanted to write about. ^_^'


	3. Home For The Heart

_Summary: With the locust hordes destroyed and the lambent exterminated, Marcus and Damon are introduced to the side of life they haven't been able to enjoy in a long time. But finding that side of life isn't as simple as they might think. But during that quiet night on Azura, it's easy enough to see a home for the heart is a place where love can be found._

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Nothing feels right. No, that's not it... nothing feels _natural_. There's a resonating calm shifting in the atmosphere, the feeling of the weight of many burdens being gone. For the years of constantly being prone to death on an undeniably daily basis to suddenly be toned down to an environment of security is overwhelming in an unexpected way.

Being free of the chains of war to be blown away by the freedom of peace…

It's a strange feeling; something Baird feels must be the symptom of some sort of post-war affect. He can feel it nibbling away at him almost always, and he can even see it flickering in Marcus eyes, too. They're both feeling it, this uncertainty because the _real_ uncertainty is gone. The real uncertainty was during the war, the traumatic experiences of living at death's doorstep. This uncertainty of not knowing what to do now that everything they had to worry about, had to fear, is… gone.

Granted, there's still a shitload of work left to do, trying to put everything back the way it was before to take their minds off things. What they have now is the leftovers of everything humankind ever had. If he were to sum it up in a few words, Baird thinks, he would say they were living in their own shit. The things they use have been built years ago and are running on rusty parts and half a dozen reassembles and modifications.

It almost feels like they're living in a world of shattered glass, Damon muses. He gushes out a sigh, pursing his lips at this unhappy, unsatisfying conclusion. But what else did he expect, though? A happy ending? Yeah, he actually sort of did. Somehow having that tomorrow everyone was fighting for doesn't feel as glorious as he'd imagined.

He head snaps around to the side when the hotel's door opens. Marcus steps in the room, looking tired and almost painfully desolate… like someone had skipped the meat in his sandwich. Their eyes meet, and Damon gives him a small smile. "Way past your bedtime," he offers to lighten up the big man's mood. Marcus blinks, eyes barely hinting amusement. The Sergeant closes the living room space between them and stands beside Damon on the balcony. It's small, barely enough room for two men, especially two so well built.

Their arms shift against each other, soft skin feeling a tingling pulse of the electrical physical touch.

Against his conscious knowing, Damon leans into the touch. Something about the warm, nearby, sturdy figure of Marcus draws him in. Despite that they rotate on opposite poles, they're attracted to each other. It's a fact they've come to realize in the most unorthodox way. But it's carried them through the war efforts when the end of humanity seemed so near and victory so far.

Marcus says and does nothing, so neither does Baird. He doesn't shift away from his boyfriend, however. Even though he's only last seen the Sergeant four hours ago, somehow that feels like a long time. Baird blames the post-war affect for feeling like that. It makes sense: he's looking for some sort of familiarity to ground himself on while everything else is changing. Marcus hasn't changed a bit since the Queen and the grubs were whipped off the planet. That silent reassurance is what he seems to really need. It sounds stupid and horribly corny, but the world could fall apart and all he'd really need is Marcus to be with.

Damon bites the inside of his lip and winces: yep, painfully corny.

For the longest while, they stand in complete silence, staring into their own thoughts. Until, that is, Damon starts thinking about what's on Marcus' mind. The blonde doesn't like thinking about what other people are musing over when he can just ask. "So… whatcha thinking about?" he asks.

"Not much." By now Baird knows that's his queue to drop it. He sighs. So much for that… "Okay."

Normally he wouldn't have a problem ignoring that queue, particularly if he knew something was really bothering Marcus, but this time he knows Marcus doesn't want to talk about and isn't in the mood to be "convinced" into talking about it. Besides, Damon is too tired, and he can tell Marcus is feeling the same.

"Have you been waiting for me?"

"No, I was having a hard time sleeping. Of course I was waiting for you," Damon replies in annoyance. Now that that cat's out of the bag, the blonde feels a blush come on. He was waiting for his boyfriend to come back so they could go to bed together… Yeah. "Just in case you needed me to check if there was a monster in the closet or something…" he huffs, folding his arms, and accidentally knocking his elbow against Marcus.

Fenix wraps an arm around Baird's waist and turns his so they're chest to chest. He looks at his boyfriend's expectant face. Loudmouth, smartasses normally annoyed the shit out of him, but Baird was about the biggest exception. Not only did he have the patience for the blonde's motor mouth, but he also… loved him. With Dom and his father gone, he wasn't sure if he could have made it to be here without Damon. And even with a promise for a future, he hadn't been sure if he could ever truly come into the new generation after having lived a life so full of war.

They hated each other the moment the met and now they're boyfriends. He didn't understand attraction or fate, but he did understand luck.

Marcus' mind returns to the present as Damon lightly grabs his bicep. The blonde is leaning close to him, and Fenix knows only too well what's on his mind—he desires the same.

The gap between their lips close as their arms wrap around one another. It's only a soft, short kiss, but the action says more than many words could. Marcus can truly appreciate this, being a man of few words. It's one way for him to express his feelings to the engineer without tripping over his tongue.

"Bed?" Damon asks with a tired smile when they pull apart.

Looking at one another, they each knew, in their own way, that there was still a home, still somewhere to belong as long as they stayed together.

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A/N: Another Marcus/Damon to add to the collection. Thank for the reviews silentfyre and LeeteukkieLover! Don't worry, there will be more stories added. :) I'm not certain when, just as the ideas come along.

As always, thank for reading ~


	4. Faculty of Love

_Summary: Love isn't always easy or fair. To Damon it's stupid and pointless, but deep down that's not really how he feels. It's only what he tries to make himself believe so he doesn't have to deal with unrequited love. But is it really unrequited?_

_A/N: I did something completely different with this story! I wanted to a different style, so here it is._

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He hadn't been looking for love. If anything he was as helplessly ignorant and blunt about it as any man could ever be. It didn't make sense, couldn't be taken apart and explained, so what was the point? If anything love was a gamble he didn't have time for or an interest in. Of course, fate was as likely as anything to do just the opposite because of that.

At first it had been a gigantic hassle: embarrassing, compromising and constantly causing him to run against the grain of his character, which usually felt like rubbing sandpaper across his face. Baird wasn't supposed to be trying to be nice. He wasn't supposed to take shit from Marcus. And he definitely wasn't supposed to blush when Sam started saying _stupid_, _untrue_ things. Like how he ogled over Marcus and was jealous of Anya. She even asked him if he wondered what kind of caliber the sergeant was packing. He mentioned Sam was full of bullshit, right?

Of course, neglecting he had a hankering for a certain sergeant only made things worse. Funny how that worked… He tried to find any possible comprise for his inner "demon" just so he wouldn't want _him_. He tried flittering with a few women around just to get his desires pointed in a good direction, but that had flat out failed. Yeah, okay so the Baird-man needed to work on his romantic advances. So what? It was just a general fact that he's better at harassing then turning anyone on. A nice smack to the face was a clear reminder and warning of that. Bernie had cracked up real nice when she'd watched him get a solid punch.

The old goose wasn't laughing so hard when he started shoveling out hotheaded remarks. Like how he was certain she wanted to get into Hoffman's pants. A quick smack to the back of his head reminded him how the opposite sex could be dangerous sometimes (1*).

Bernie was reasonable, however. She somehow knew when something personal was up and let him get away with things he usually had to pay for later. It was apparent when Baird, who obviously had no interest in sexual affairs, started flirting with women he normally laughed off. Something was wrong.

Alright, so he wasn't the greatest at being stealthy with his internal problems sometimes.

Later on, when Bernie tried to get around to the nature of the problem, Baird was about as cooperative as a trying to get a rock to float. Talking to someone about it was a possibility Damon wouldn't even begin to consider. She could tell and offered him an opportunity to talk if he wanted. At the time the first thing that ran through his mind was: "Yeah, sure. Maybe when I'm _dead_."

If anything wanting Marcus was like poking an old wound that would never heal: half the reason his parents shipped him off to the C.O.G. was so they could "fix" they're son's little "problem". Assholes. He just wanted the feeling gone. Not that he ever wanted to follow his parents' wishes, but more that their wish to change his sexuality changed his perspective about love in general. All it did was hurt him throughout his life and get him tossed around as practically an outcast to his family.

As far as he was concerned love was just a bitch. It was a stupid, thoughtless, gambling garbage bag of emotions that tore people apart instead of brought them together. People did some of the dumbest things for it, only to get shit kicked in their faces. And even if love worked out in the end, it was the bitterest, shit-eating thing to lose.

Baird was certain he did not want that. In this hell, who'd wanted to fall in love? He'd guess the next day that special someone would be a bloody mess in a ditch somewhere.

And not to mention there were two other massive obstacle in the way of that a special someone he was trying not to fall in love with.

Firstly, Marcus already had the Anya breathing hot and heavy down his back. Alright, so maybe not like that, but come on it was obvious, right? While the Lieutenant's interest wasn't overwhelming, it was certainly clear enough for any bystander who had some common sense. Only Marcus seemed somehow unaware of the deeper reasons beyond her warm smiles and heartfelt eyes.

Secondly, what chance did Private Damon S. Baird have with the war hero Marcus Fenix? He wasn't going to brag-up the Sergeant with some stupid iconic role, but the guy kinda was a role model for the C.O.G. The things he did and the way he rolled was something that the others found strength in.

There was also the fact that he was an asshole to the guy. But that was pretty much second nature to Baird. He definitely wasn't going to take fault in the shit that came out of his mouth, because whoever got it probably deserved it. (Okay, so maybe Marcus mostly got it because Damon was a little jealous, but that was definitely beside the point. And he is definitely over Marcus' promotion.)

Thirdly (and perhaps the biggest reason), the likelihood of Marcus being gay was squat. It's a choice—to love another man, to love another woman. But somehow when you're the one attracted to the same sex, it seems like you're the only one in the world (or at least the only one around)… stuck in a little bubble afraid to look about, afraid to see if there's someone who feels the same. But there's always that hope—that trusting feeling—that someone else feels the same way. Someone else has to feel the same way.

The hard part is finding that person, and that person wanting you, too. Just because someone else has the same the sexual attraction, doesn't mean it's the same personal attraction. And the chances of Marcus actually wanting Damon were even lower. He had patience for the blonde's bullshit, but their relationship was barely even skin-deep. If anything, it was mostly professional with a small siding of personal. They cared about each other, but not even in a platonic way. It was more of a relationship built on respect and mutual goals, the kind built up in a squad—war's makeshift family.

So that's how it was. The excuses piled so high and his own personal walls so thick, Damon kept himself away from "stupid" love. But the mind can only _try_ to forget what the heart feels not throw it away.

Feelings aren't like misbehaved accessories; they're personal and real. Whether one chooses to believe and follow them is opinionated and, really, quite irrelevant. The nature of their existence can't be changed, because you want it to. Though you can try not all things are as easily thrown away as tears and paper plates.

Like a hankering that could never be touched, a fire that refused to stop burning, or wings that could never soar, it was a wound on Damon's heart that refused to go away.

By the time Jacinto sunk, it was scar. Still an aching fever in his mind, but something he was learning to tolerate and ignore. Or at least he convinced himself. In his many attempts to ignore the reality of his sexuality's desires, he assured himself Anya was better for Marcus. As annoying as he frequently found her, she seemed to be able to get in touch with the steely sergeant like no one else could. If she could chip away at Fenix iceberg and get to the lonely heart beneath, all the better for him (all the better for Marcus, of course; don't kid yourself, Damon didn't want Marcus to fall in love with Anya that badly). A sincere negligence of his own nonexistent love life didn't make this assurance as easily accepted as he'd hoped.

Baird still hadn't wanted—was trying not—to fall in love when they were following the coast on barges on what felt to be an aimless journey. It was stupid his mind kept telling him. But his heart couldn't be farther apart.

It seemed like everyone wanted to fall in love or at least was open to the idea. Even if they thought they loved being a lone wolf, that having friends was good enough. Even if they knew the chances of staying alive were frighteningly slim. Maybe it's one of human's primitive desires that remain unchanged: the need to find a mate.

No, that wasn't Damon. He'd _evolved_. Love was for the suckers still groping for romantic dreams. He had a sexual appetite and that was it. Love was a gigantic hassle, remember? It was embarrassing, compromising… something about sandpaper against his face. He'd cast away the thought, having been a little too seasick to really care about finishing it.

When he'd lie on his small cot, listening to Cole's soft snoring he'd wondered if maybe it was the loneliness eating away at him. It was a horrible thing to contemplate, because he knew—and hated—that it meant he could never truly ignore his feelings for Marcus Fenix.

He'd flashback to Bernie's offering to talk so many months ago. Maybe he should have accepted it? She was with Hoffman on the mainland. Or maybe they were both dead. Nobody really knew. Either way, he'd spend many hours regretting deciding to stay with Delta. He hated being on the water almost all the time. He hated seeing Anya around Marcus so much. But he mostly hated himself for the way he felt. Why couldn't he control his feelings?

By this time Sam had completely dropped teasing him about Marcus. Maybe she thought Damon no longer felt the same way he had, or maybe she knew he was trying to forget Marcus. Either way, the jokes were a thing of the past. He was glad.

One night, after seeing Anya kiss Marcus' cheek, he'd thought about suicide. It was such a cold, lonely word, one he'd never even contemplated before. He knew it wouldn't be hard. With all his gear on, it wouldn't even be a struggle. The weight would take him beneath the surface and the water would fill his lungs with the kiss of death.

It was only the one night he'd thought about it. Probably because the last few years he'd been trying so hard to stay alive. It seemed stupid to kill himself when he'd come so far and had been so lucky.

Not too long afterwards, he wondered if it was cruel reality that the people who didn't really want to live, lived while the ones who had something to live for died. Thinking that made him truly question if he really wanted to live anymore. It was terrifying and interesting to realize he wouldn't be very upset to find out one day he was dying.

Then again, everyday it seemed like a little part of him was dying. He wouldn't be that surprising if he ran out of parts. The thought had somehow made him snort. He wasn't poetic, but that seemed strangely so. Cole had asked him what was so funny, but he couldn't say.

He was trying hard enough to act like typical smart-ass Baird. He didn't need his friends wondering if he was going crazy or getting depressed.

When the lambent stalks came out of the water, and locust attacked them it was the worst and best day Baird had had in a long time. It was the worst, because it was a real shitstorm. And he best because he could forget about his feelings for Marcus for a while. Of course, it didn't really help that he'd worried sincerely about the sergeant afterwards when they'd blown up the barge to kill the leviathan.

Damon carried that worry with him like a curse throughout the reminder of the war. Sure, Marcus had been in the shit only hundreds of time before, so it wasn't like he needed any special care. But being on the barge for almost two months must have softened something up in Damon, because he couldn't grasp that as well as he had before.

With Dom gone and his father dying only hours after they were finally united again, something in Marcus died for sure. He pushed Anya away and was even less talkative (something Damon thought hadn't really been possible). Somehow, amid that mess, Damon found himself being the one to "console" the detached sergeant. And console meant he snapped at the man for being so difficult. He wasn't sure why, but Marcus didn't push him away like he did to everyone else. For some reason, he seemed to think Damon could be the remedy for his ailment.

Damon's fragile heart was warmer than it had been in years. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do with this new sort of trust, but he tried his best not to let it get to his head. He was just being a good friend, he told himself. Only, Marcus and him had never really been friends. It was fascinating and wonderful actually being something to him.

Then everyone started to notice how close they were becoming. Anya was beginning to seem jealous. Sam's old jokes started popping up, and Cole would smile at Damon every once in a while in a way that the engineer couldn't comprehend. He didn't like it.

Moreover, he went too far one night without really noticing it. But Marcus must have noticed because he looked at Damon so strangely. That scared him. If anyone could clobber him into next week, it was Marcus. Then there was always the ruination of his (limited, but still realistic) social life and possible death in a dark alley one night.

It seemed ridiculous to think that unrequited love could be so dangerous, especially with a man he'd known for almost three years, but that was often the sickle-handed face of society. He tried to prepare himself for the worst.

Yet… yet things ended up a little differently than Baird had imaged they would. The following day Marcus showed he was not outright rejecting Damon's small advance. It was through small actions that seemed meaningless to anyone else, but were actually quite momentous to Damon. At first he didn't know what to think when he noticed them—which _of course_ he _noticed_ them. How could he not?

The man he'd been trying to get over for so long was suddenly opening up to him? Holy hell. When all he wanted to do was have something with Marcus, he wasn't sure what to do now that he was being given that chance. At first, he was afraid to do anything out of the normal. Maybe Marcus could change his mind.

He didn't change his mind, though. In fact, he seemed to be more assure of whatever decision he'd made. Damon was quick to learn that decision was to let feelings take their course.

It was a decision that went against the grain of his 'perfect' image of a gear's role model. What was left of their society was fragile and not particularly accepting. Even if there was nothing wrong with the way they felt, some people would inevitably disagree strongly enough to be encouraged into action—action the C.O.G. did not need.

It was unsaid the whole thing needed to remain a secret.

That didn't matter, though. To Damon, what felt most important was the fact that they were actually in love. As giddy as the word made him feel, he felt seriously contemplative when he thought about what he used to think love was. Embarrassing. Stupid. Worthless. But he realized he hated it because he hated how he couldn't find love when everyone else could. He was jealous, but too proud to have that sort of envy so he dressed it up as something else.

That didn't matter anymore, though: what matter was he found what he was looking for. In fact, nothing else mattered as much as knowing Marcus held him somewhere so special. The catastrophic damage the locust and lambent left behind was still weighty, but certainly doable now that he had something so grand to lighten his footsteps.

Damon smiles now. It would be one of many that aren't taunting after a smartass remark. Love definitely isn't as stupid as he'd thought after all.

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Thank you for the reviews! Please remember these are just short stories put in chapters (new chapter, new story). They're short and fluffy, so they're not meant to be as meaningful as a full story. I'll keep updating as the ideas come rolling in. :) Sorry, this new addition is so late, btw. Hope everyone enjoyed ~


	5. Damon's Teddy Bear

_Summary: Damon is having trouble sleeping, so he goes to the only place he knows he'll feel comfortable enough._

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Damon stares into the darkness of his room, feeling the void of pitch black ridicule him for the dastardly inability to sleep. "Fucking-A," he grumbles, rolling onto his back. He closes his eyes and focuses on the soothing tempo of slow, steady breaths. Emptying his mind to the best of his ability, he compels all the aches and groans of the day to slip away into the back corner of his thoughts.

He lies positively motionless, willing sleep to take away his consciousness. _Any moment now would be nice…_ But the urge to switch back into a different position sneaks up on him like a desperate itch needing to be scratched—or sometimes it was an itch that need to be scratched. Whatever it was, something was constantly poking him a way he couldn't ignore.

What he would do for a sleep aid right now…

He throws himself onto his right side. In another few seconds, he throws himself onto his left. A loud, unhappy huff of breath leaves his lips loudly: the lamp is switched on in the signal of his surrender. He gazes at his loose, tangling sheets. He just can't completely relax. There's a nagging feeling, a lack of warmth and the surrender of bodies against another. His cheeks warm up a little: he wants Marcus.

Immediately his mind is time traveling back to the many times he'd slept with Marcus. Granted the first of time was because he'd been drunk (that was an entirely different story, thank goodness), but the others were for the pure enjoyment.

It had been a risk every times, with the chances of someone getting suspicious about Damon entering and leaving Marcus' room. So they'd been careful: Damon, or sometimes Marcus, arriving late and leaving in the wee hours of the morning to sleep the last three or two hours in his own room. Admittedly the whole ordeal was a bit of a bitch to enact. To someone else, the whole sleepover probably seemed pointless, to say the least. They'd always see each other in the morning and, sometimes, for almost the whole day.

Well, then that someone would have to understand this: out in the daylight, under the criticizing gaze of everyone else, Marcus and Damon were just friends. But when the romantic bliss of nightfall came, they were something much more: boyfriends (lovers sounds like too much of an old romance thing to Baird).

Sleepover was a dainty way of stepping around saying snuggling half-naked and, occasionally (if neither was that tired), fucking until their bodies gave out.

For the past week they haven't engaged in those nightly routines, however. It's mostly because Baird had nearly walked in when Anya was visiting Marcus late one night. There would have been no explanation for that, and they both agreed it would be best if they were even more careful. Basically, Marcus' way of suggesting they stop for a while even though Anya now knew she wasn't getting anywhere with_ Damon's _Sergeant.

Even though he didn't want to seem clingy, the blonde had squeezed every last drop of information the following day of Anya's visit. It had been an attempt to take a step forward with Marcus and her relationship, but nothing had happened—he was thoroughly assured of that.

Damon folds his arms on top of his knees and rests his chin on them. What are the chances of someone noticing him, anyway? He hasn't really gotten to talk to Marcus the past few days beside the occasional nod of acknowledgment and a short chat in the mess hall. He fucking misses the man and that can't be helped. There's something about being with the Sergeant that draws him in like a moth to the flame. And he knows it's just as dangerous as the metaphor suggests. But like the moth, Damon won't resist the attraction, the urge. Why live life empty? Some things are worth the risk.

The exciting static energy, connecting Marcus and him is nothing he's ever felt before. It makes him feel nervous and in the right place at the same time. Whenever their eyes meet, he's lost and found. Knowing the emotions in Marcus' gunmetal blue eyes are reserved for only him blooms a flower of happiness and content in his heart.

He's in the seventh cloud with they're panting and holding each other close, ridding out overpowering climaxes. And when they're settled in each other's arms with the afterglow bringing over a soothing daze, he feels relaxed in a way nothing else could compare to.

Damon is smiling now, a small but honest, fulfilled smile. He blinks in consideration, eyeing his hotel door.

Yeah, fuck this.

The last few weeks—fucking weeks—have been hell (okay so maybe week should be singular… but still!). Sleeping without Marcus has been a disaster to the engineer's sleeping patterns if there ever were one. Nothing can compare to being surrounded by the scent of his Sergeant, while tucked under a blanket warmed by another body. With Azura being a tropical island, one would think with the days often turning people into soup, the nights wouldn't be much better. But they were usually balmy. With a crisp sea breeze sailing through an open window, it could sometimes even be a little chilly. Needless to say, Damon doesn't need a cool night to want to sleep with Marcus.

He slips out of bed, grabbing his small keychain off the bedside table.

He creeps down the hallway like a thief. 96… 97… 98… 99… He stops. Checking his sectors, he taps his knuckles against the door. The soft sound seems to echo down the hallway like a shout. He flinches. Maybe he should have just used the key Marcus gave him? Too late now, he supposes.

He waits anxiously for the reply, but nothing happens. He raises his hand to knock again, but the sound of the deadbolt being undone stops him. The door creaks inward and Marcus is standing at the threshold, looking ruffled from sleep and bare chest, but perfect as ever to the Corporal.

Damon can't help the stupid grin that spreads across his face when he sees the slight surprise in his Sergeant's eyes. He then drinks in the rest of the man's face: there's tired written all over him. The blonde starts to feel guilty, an unusual emotion. Did he just wake him up from sleep he really needed? Marcus steps aside before he can really contemplate the thought.

"Sorry," he pretty much blurts out as he walks into the room. "I didn't mean to wake up you. It's just…" Damon falters, feeling sheepish. Normally he never apologizes. He scratches the back of his neck. Marcus doesn't reply as he shuts the door.

The warmth and the heavy presence behind him, makes Damon turn. Marcus is looming close behind him with a sleepy, but not at all disgruntled expression. For a moment all Damon wants to do is drink in that handsome face—or at least everything he can see with the light from the scythe-like moon. Something about Marcus definitely changes when he looks at the blonde like that. It's a look he's come to love.

Marcus leans down and steals a kiss from him, before steering him towards the bed. Damon figures the bastard's quiet because he's tired, since he's obviously not unhappy. They climb beneath the covers, and Damon is quick to claim his usual spot facing Marcus with an arm draped over his chest. Meanwhile Marcus stretches his left arm out and under Damon's pillow. For some reason, the Sergeant always prefers to lie on his back when he falls asleep. Since it's obviously not from any prevailing, past injury, Damon has come to assume it's habit. Whenever they got a chance to sleep during the war, it was on their back, because of the accessibly the position provided (and it's to that easy to move around in armor).

Anyway, it made it easy for Damon to snuggle close to Marcus' side—an action that seemed to put them both terribly out of character. But there's always more to the oyster than it's shell. To be bold (but exceptionally honeyed and metaphorical), the inside of the oyster is a pearl—their compassionate feelings for one another. In any case, neither of them mind seeming so out of character. If anything love changes a person.

Now that he's got what he'd wanted, Damon feels genuine sleepiness truss him up. Marcus' breathe has evened out to a slow pattern, and Damon mimics it, feeling the lull of sleep grow heavier… and heavier… and heavier… Until he finally dozes off himself.

* * *

So, here's another little story for you guys! Not as long as the last one, but sweeter this time.

ukenceto thank you so much for the kind words! :3 I want to write a story in Marcus' perspective, but am afraid I'll make him too OC! :\ The next story I think of I'll try Marcus, though, and we'll see how it goes.


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